His Amortentia Addiction
by TheWarriorQueen
Summary: For duj. Oneshot. Complete. Severus Snape can smell Lily's hair in Amortentia, and he clings to that along with his sanity.


**For duj, who requested "Snape sniffs Amortentia to remember the smell of Lily's hair... (Doesn't he know that stuff is addictive?)" I'm sure duj thought I would turn out crack!fiction again, but the Poignant-Purple-Prose!bunny bit me. Oops. Oh well, sad, sweet story coming up.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing HP related, not even Amortentia to tell me what to be looking out for.**

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Professor Severus Snape sighed, pressing one long-fingered hand to his forehead as he shut the door after his last class of the day. He needed a good shot of Ogden's Finest after that disaster. His Sixth Years had just had their Amortentia lesson. Every year, he both dreaded and eagerly anticipated the opportunity to brew the love potion. Everyone muttered about how they could smell so-and-so's cologne or perfume, and he found himself unable to even raise the slightest hint of sarcasm.

For, every time he passed that cauldron, he smelled three things: old books, lemon drops, and Lily's hair. And like now, every year he sat down with his bottle of Firewhiskey and the cauldron with the deceptively comforting scents, and he clung to his memories of the only person to ever show him affection when he was younger.

_"Come on, Sev, we'll be late!" she called as they hurried up the hill._

_"Late for what?" he asked, following up the uneven path as fast as he could._

_She laughed; a rippling sound. "I don't know, but today feels special, don't you think?"_

_He agreed fervently, there was something special about that day indeed._

He inhaled the fumes like a drowning man as he sank to his knees before his desk, clutching at the edge. "I failed you, Lily, I failed you," he whispered. "I'm so sorry." He was the very picture of abject misery as his greasy hair fell in curtains around his bowed head, brushing the sallow cheeks with feather-light touches, cruelly reminiscent of how her hair used to fly into his face whenever there was a breeze.

A tear escaped his obsidian eyes, trickling down to the end of his hooked nose, and dripping gently off the end, splashing on the flagstone floor with a soft, nearly imperceptible sound. He remained in that dejected attitude, waiting as though for a divine sentence, be it pardon or condemnation. All he heard, however, were voices of bygone days.

_"Lily, what's wrong?" he asked as she sat next to him, her eyes rimmed with red._

_"Nothing," she whispered, leaning into his side. "Nothing anymore."_

_Disbelief showed on his face, but he respected her wishes and remained silent, a small smile tugging on one end of his mouth and lighting his eyes with a wild happiness as he contemplated the implications of that "anymore."_

Every year, the same ritual; chasing the class out, drinking the Firewhiskey, and breathing in the vapours that reminded him of what love felt like, creating an aching void where his heart should be. Merlin, it was painful, but at the same time, it was like lancing a festering boil of bitterness that had infected him all year. He had once heard a Muggle song say, _"Sometimes love don't feel like it should; it hurt so good." _And when he heard that, he was reminded that Muggles know a lot more than wizards give them credit for.

He told himself he only did this because he had to brew the potion anyway, and that he couldn't resist it once he smelled the scents that wafted around the classroom. Such was his excuse, until the year he was no longer teaching Potions. Then, he found himself brewing it anyway, and bottling some to be his comfort in the trying times ahead.

_She giggled, and threw a handful of water at him. He retaliated, and soon they were sopping wet._

_"Sev?" she began idly as they waded out the brook._

_"Yeah?" he responded, dropping with an awkward movement to the grass next to her._

_Her fingers darted out and caught a dandelion seed from his hair. "You're my best friend, you know that?" He smiled, pleased beyond words to know that he was valued._

Throughout that year and the next he had the bottle on his table in his quarters, waiting for his return from his next meeting with the Dark Lord, each time more tenuous than the next. Waiting for his return from Dumbledore's office, where he was routinely frustrated and conflicted. It was there, like Lily used to be, unquestioningly and supportively. And Merlin knew he needed the support.

In the last months of Death Eater rule, he found himself talking to Lily whilst he's surrounded by the smell of her hair. He fancied that maybe, just maybe, she answered. He no longer pretended that he wasn't addicted. Rather, upon realizing it, he embraced the dependency and thrived in a substance-induced haze, where he would not, could not, forget the scent of the only one he ever loved.

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**Kudos to anyone who can identify the book my imagery was inspired by!**

**In other news, I'm on AO3! (Archive Of Our Own) I'm under the same name. Because of FF dot net cracking down as they are, I will be copying all my stories across to AO3, and only posting my review reward fics over here. All new stories not due to reviews will be over there as well.**

**TheWarriorQueen**


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